


This Dream Calls

by Doublehex



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 10:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8975314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doublehex/pseuds/Doublehex
Summary: Jon has returned to Winterfell with the armies of the Targaryen queen. He is alone with his thoughts as he wanders the walls.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oadara](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Oadara).



> A Christmas gift for Oadara @ Tumblr. She has given the fandom pages upon pages of meta essays on Jon and Daenerys, the least I could do was give her a Christmas gift. But, of course, with this being ASoIaF, it is not necessarily a happy one. Or a sad one. Bittersweet, as always.

It was the dream of his mother that forced Jon from his bed and to wander the walls of Winterfall. The snow was thick and heavy as it settled on the ramparts. _Winter is coming_. Father had always said the words, and a Stark is always right eventually. With the march south came the snows, and the frost, and the burning that could only arrive with the cold. Daenerys Targaryen came with her dragons and with a proposal. “Give me the North, Jon Snow, and I will give you my dragons.”

He remembered the last time he helped a man who wasn’t of the North win it. He told Stannis Baratheon how to win the love of the Northmen, by appealing to the Hill Clans, by claiming Moat Cailin from the Ironborn. But Stannis had marched on Winterfell, and he had died on the lake of ice. Daenerys Targaryen was not Stannis Baratheon – she did not have the burning heart for a sigil, she was not enthused by the words of Melisandre, and she came with ten thousand men where Stannis had only a few to match.

And she marched with Jon Snow. His brothers gave unto him the daggers, but then the Red Priestess gave him life. For near on a year he lived within Ghost, _was_ a ghost of Castle Black. But then came the Lady Stoneheart who had her life to give, Melisandre spoke the words, and Jon Snow was Jon Snow again. He swore off the Night’s Watch, but not their mission. The Others still lingered beyond the wall. They would come with their frozen swords and their ice spiders, and the dragons were needed.

But the Dragon Queen did more than march with Jon Snow. They had those lingering gazes, those almost touches of their fingers, the words that were almost spoken. But those almost became true, and then came when Daenerys would summon him to her tent and invite him beneath her furs. Often he would think she would push him away at any point, that she would decide it was all a mistake to lie with the bastard of the man that stole her throne.

But night after night, she never did. “Attend to me, Lord Snow,” she would say as she’d slip the fur cloak off from her shoulders.

Now he was home. Winterfell, where the walls were heated by the hot springs, and the crypts of all the Kings in Winter lingered below the earth. He could almost see Bran and Rickon from the corner in his eye. But he would blink and they would be gone. They had lingered here for almost a month, as the lords came to pledge their fealty.

The men talked that Jon Snow would be known as Lord Stark soon enough. _Are you smiling Robb, or are you laughing?_

It was two weeks since Lord Reed arrived under the lizard-lion banner. Jon sought him out immediately, and the quiet man reminded him far too often of Aemon. Daenerys…Dany…Her Grace gave them all the time and space in the world. For so long as Jon would treat with the lord of Greywater Watch, she would never summon him. Except for at night, when she would have Jon brought beneath her furs.

Jon wondered how much she knew and didn’t. Was the fact that he was her nephew was what made Daenerys long for him? Perhaps the Targaryen blood was what made Jon desire her. _I am not a Stark_. The words echoed in his mind. He always knew the words – but the truth! It cut deeper than the knives. He was Rhaegar’s son.

Of course that was why he loved the warmth of Daenerys Targaryen. He was not a wolf, but some dragon monstrosity. Did her violet eyes shine with pride? Of course. Was she beautiful beyond reproach? Yes. Did he love her smile, the strength she displayed, the silent weaknesses that she would hide to all but him? Yes.

And he would dream of his mother. He always imagined her high borne and beautiful, but never as Lyanna Stark. He had seen her in a tower surrounded by red mountains, reaching for her belly, reaching for him. “Avenge my family,” she whispered. “Vengeance,” he dreamed her say a thousand times.

House Targaryen had wrong her, but House Lannister had wronged his family. Jon was all that was left now. His brothers were dead, the Arya Stark that married Roose Bolton was Jeyne Poole, and Sansa has been missing for years. In those quiet moments, Jon missed Arya the most. When he closed his eyes, he could almost see her tangled birds nest of hair. _Mother, how can I take vengeance for you when House Targaryen is how I can achieve it?_

_Your cousins, not sisters or brothers. They are your cousins, you fool. Robb was never your brother. Arya was never your sister, not matter how much she insisted._

And what if Daenerys Targaryen holds his child in her? They had tumbled beneath the furs a dozen times. She had told him about the Magus, but those were words, and they were just as fleeting as the wind. Daenerys wouldn’t die motherless. House Targaryen wouldn’t die out like that. Jon Snow wanted to dream of a son is in his arms.

A highborn son, if Dany had her way. “You should be a Stark,” she told him after they unfurled the Stark banners over the walls. King Stannis wanted the same thing, but in return he wanted Jon to burn the weirwood groove, and Jon couldn’t do that. But she only wanted Jon’s loyalty…and for him to attend to her every night.

_I want it. More than anything else, I want it. I wanted Father to kiss me and say I was always a Stark, but Father is dead and I am all that is left._

And Mother wanted him to avenge her. But he could only think of the warmness of Daenerys Targaryen. And Dany’s sweet smiles, her gentle caresses, the way her fingers trailed his body. _She is my aunt, and I want her_. He wanted his sons to have silver-gold hair and gray eyes. Or they could be dark of hair with violet eyes. The thought almost made him cry regardless. He wanted to have her every night. He wanted to defy his Mother. He wanted to sit on the High Seat in the Feasting Hall and summon a man to feast with him every night, and for Jon to listen to his words. He wanted people to call him Lord Jon Stark.

And he wanted to defy his Mother. _Lyanna Stark, how can I give you what you ask?_ She died giving birth to him, and Jon could not even fulfill the one demand she made of him. What a pitiful son.

Jon heard Dany step behind him. “I did not realize you Starks favored the cold over the blazing hearth.”

He could not keep the smile from his face. “No, Your Grace. I just felt restless tonight.”

She placed her fingers over his hands. “You have had plenty of restless nights, Jon. Especially since you’ve returned home.”

“Home,” Jon whispered. “For years Castle Black was my home, and I don’t think I had too many bad dreams there.”

The Queen was not amused. “The Wall was a prison your Lord Father sent you to.” She knocked on the stone. “This is your home.”

She spoke of his father as if it was poison. _What would say if you knew he was your brother? That the union that made me was the spark that burnt away House Targaryen?_ He wondered if she would curse him, or that she would kiss him for being family. Perhaps she would propose marriage on the spot. Perhaps she would send him away forever.

“And what was home to you? You fled from one of the cities to the other.”

“Not always. For a time I knew a house with a red door. It was my most peaceful memory. I knew what it was like to be a little girl then.”

In all their months together, she had never spoken of her childhood. Jon wondered how little they truly knew each other. He knew her body, and she had claimed his a dozen times. He had seen her laugh, and she would watch him smile. But Jon couldn’t say he knew Daenerys Targaryen. He couldn’t read her as he could Arya. They would finish each other’s sentences.

“You are haunted by memories, Jon.”

“I have plenty to be haunted by,” he sighed. “I should have ran harder to Robb. He would have taken me into his service. I was his brother. I could have done something. Bran and Rickon may still be here.”

“You did what you had to do,” Dany insisted. She leaned into him. “If your brothers could look at you now, they would not blame you.”

“And what do you know of my brothers?” _What do you know of my heart? What do I know of yours?_

“I know of them from you. That they would have loved their brother, even if he was unjustly named a bastard.” _Lord Stark was not my father. Lyanna Stark was my mother._

Jon shook his head. “Robb told me I would never be Lord of Winterfell.”

Daenerys narrowed her gaze. “That was Catelyn Stark speaking through him. Her words haunt you still. Didn’t she give up her unnatural life for you?”

“Stoneheart gave up her life. Lady Catelyn was the mother of all of Eddard Stark’s children, except for me.”

She tightened her grip around his fingers. “That made you no less a Stark.” _No, it made me a Targaryen._ “And neither could the same be said of your child.”

He turned to her then. “It has been a month since my moonblood. And while you treated for Lord Reed, the Maester attended to me.” She smiled, and Jon thought she had never looked more pleased. “He was most convinced. If you wish it, I would have you be Lord Stark before we leave. And, I would wrap my cloak around you in front of that weirwood tree you favor so much.”

Jon cupped her face and kissed her. She was warm, so warm in the cold. Daenerys Targaryen was fire. He could hear his mother. _Vengeance_. _Where is my vengeance?_

But as he thumbed Dany’s cheek, he could not provide her with an answer.


End file.
